


Late Night Laundry Date

by eyesfixedonthesun22



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Chance Meetings, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Insomnia, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Multi, Other, gender neutral reader, mentions of bodily fluids, nothing graphic, nurse reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 03:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18002849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyesfixedonthesun22/pseuds/eyesfixedonthesun22
Summary: Bucky Barnes can’t sleep. He’s desperate for anything that will help him catch a few Z’s. While the verdict is still out if you’ll help his insomnia, you definitely put a smile on his face.





	Late Night Laundry Date

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for kentuckybarnes 3k writing challenge. My prompt was “I’m always ready to make a fool of myself”. Thank you so much for hosting this, Hannah! I’ve enjoyed every single thing you’ve written and I’m honored to be included in the challenge. Thank you to my darling babe, Ronnie ( @supersoldiersruined-me) for giving this a look over…cause I’m a typo queen.

Bucky jolts awake- head slipping off the hand propping him up.

“Are you serious right now?!” Sam whisper yells. He’s got his head peaked out from his bedroom door. “Buck, can you _please_ do laundry when it’s not one in the morning? The spin cycle has been waking me up for the past week.”

In his sleepy haze, Bucky nods noncommittally and mumbles something Sam can’t hear.

“You know there’s a laundromat just down the street? Right near the hospital.” Sam offers before shutting his door.

Bucky eyes the remaining piles of laundry surrounding him with a glassy stare. He’d managed to sort them somehow before nodding off. His half-lidded eyes glare at them. They’re a blatant reminder of his lack of sleep. Before, Bucky used to sleep but suffered from nightmares. Now it seems his body has decided to play a new trick on him; pure ravenous insomnia. It’s unforgiving. Some nights, he couldn’t fall asleep until well into the wee hours. Other nights, he would wake and never be able to get back to sleep. He had begged for the nightmares to stop but this sleep deprivation is possibly worse.

The insomnia had gotten so bad he’d been taken off the most recent mission; Steve’s orders. Something about him falling asleep during the briefing. Bucky chose not to remember. Until he had the A-Okay from medical, and much to his annoyance Steve’s final approval, he wouldn’t see fieldwork any time soon. In between the fitful bouts of sleep, he’s taken up most of the chores in the tower. He was hoping it will exhaust his body and still allow his mind to rest.

He’d found laundry seemed the most successful at aiding sleep. Sorting everyone’s darks from lights. Tactical gear goes in the special heavy-duty washer. Each Avenger liked their clothing folded a different way. The routine and assembly line of tasks helped calm his mind a bit; but it was the rhythmic swishing of the machines which had the most success knocking him into a much-needed sleep.

The attempt tonight had worked. It wasn’t long after putting in the first load, Bucky had nodded off leaning against his cool metal palm. That is, until Sam had startled him awake. He herds the laundry into multiple bags before setting off to find the laundromat; desperate for a few more hours of sleep tonight.

* * *

For the second time tonight, Bucky is startled awake. He’s livid and ready to pounce on who ever had disturbed him. His brows knit together while shaking the last remnants of sleep. He glances up to see who the disturber is. Your pupils were wide and body cautious after the feral growl of frustration he had let out.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” you say expecting rebuke. “It’s just- your laundry’s done. You’ve been passed out for a couple hours now.” He blinks; still assessing his surroundings in the harsh fluorescent lighting. You seemed like someone who meant well, and you clearly weren’t a threat.

You hesitate to break the rest of the news to this on edge but very handsome stranger. “You looked out of it, so I switched your laundry over and folded it… I hope that it’s okay.”

He surprises you by letting out a giant yawn followed by a beaming smile. “Thank you, doll. I really appreciate it.” He rises from the hard-plastic seats he’d been laying on as a makeshift bed. “What time is it?”

“Nearly six.” You barely get your response out as you study his body stretching in front of you. He was one of the most attractive men you’d ever seen. Clearly exhausted, as the dark circles under his eyes hinted, but beautiful nonetheless.

He gives you a kind smile. It doesn’t seem to reach his eyes, but the feeling is there. “Thanks again.” He flings the multiple loads in his laundry bags. Before you can muster the courage to speak to him again, you see his back disappear with the clang of the little bell on the door.

* * *

 

Next week you walk into the laundromat only to see the handsome stranger once again. This time he isn’t passed out on the bank of seats but standing in front of the washer loading a pile of lights. You move to the other side of the folding tables; keeping a distance but still giving you the chance to subtly observe him while you sort your garments.

He slams the door of the machine closed only to wrench it back open. He hesitates before glancing around. He doesn’t see you tucked into your spot out of his periphery. Deeming the surroundings safe, he yanks off his long sleeve white t-shirt and tosses it in with the rest of the whites.

At first you marvel at his physique. Clearly this man takes care of himself. The once over of his body halts when a glint of something metallic catches your eye. He whirls around, eyes wide in panic and locking with yours. “Crap.”

You must have made some sort of noise in reaction to his arm. With his body facing you, you’re able to see the stunning metallic prosthetic. It joins with his left shoulder and encompasses his entire limb down to matching metal digits. You’ve seen a great deal of prosthetics, but nothing close to his. The fluidity of the metal, if that’s what it was, moved with such grace and intuition. It was like his arm had been dipped in paint; giving it a new appearance but never lost in the first place. Each of you stare at the other in stunned silence. You break eye contact first and spew a litany of apologies. He scrambles to grab a replacement shirt; now acutely aware of his vulnerable state.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.”

He chuckles, ready to make light of the situation. “Really, doll, I’m sorry. I’m the one getting half-naked in a public place.”

“Trust me, it’s nothing I don’t see nearly every day.” He looks up at you in confusion. “I’m a nurse… at the hospital down the block. I work crazy odd hours so it’s easier to do my laundry here before or after a shift,” you clarify.  

He glances down at the mix of scrub tops and pants sitting in front of you on the folding table. Your hands attempt to work a stain remover solution into a large patch of blood right across the stomach of one of your favorite tops without any luck of it subsiding.

“Hydrogen peroxide works better.” Your hands pause their scrubbing. “That or ice-cold water before it gets a chance to set in.”

You raise an eyebrow as he shrugs his shoulders at your skeptic face. “And you’re an expert at bloody clothing?”

“Something like that… ” He smiles more to himself as if he’s sharing a private joke. He strides over to you confidently; carrying a small bottle. “Here. Lemme help?”

You hand over the scrub top; letting him work magic with the peroxide. By the time he’s finished, the stain is much paler and ready for the wash.

“Hand me that other one,” he says reaching for some pants in your pile. “It’s already brown. It’s probably super set into the fabric by now but I’ll see what I can do.”

You swat his arm. “Oh, that one isn’t blood.”

It takes his face a bit to register what you mean before letting out a deep laugh.

“I’ll leave that one for you then. Out of my area of expertise.” He winks at you causing your heart to do a stutter step. “I’m Bucky by the way.”

“Y/N”.

* * *

 

Weeks go by and soon you settle into a routine with Bucky. You’ve gotten to know each other well in the late hours of the night. Sometimes it’s doing laundry together in a quiet silence. Other nights you let him sleep and enjoy the backdrop of his gentle snores. When he can’t sleep you two talk often playing twenty questions or swapping stories. Eventually he stops by the hospital and has “lunch” with you during your break.

You help him try to problem solve his insomnia. He helps you decompress from difficult shifts. It’s a relationship you’ve both come to depend on. Though you had suspected it from the first night, after many weeks Bucky caves and tells you what he does for work. Since then, you find the two of you bonding over gross stories that would make the rest of your friends cringe. It’s a constant war to see who can out gross whom. The current tally has you in the lead.

One night, the laundromat is shockingly bustling despite the late hour. You and Bucky had managed to claim an entire row of washers before the rush of people came in.

“What’s on the agenda for tonight, sweetheart?” You bite your bottom lip as you contemplate. Little do you know this particular habit of yours derails Bucky’s thoughts every time.

“Truth or Dare.”

“Really?” You stare at him with unwavering stubbornness; a trait he’s finding himself fond of. “Are we twelve?”

Lowering your voice so the other laundromat patrons can’t overhear, “Unless you’re scared, Barnes?”

“ ** _I’m always down to make a fool of myself_**.”

You volley a couple easy truths back and forth. Once you switch the first load to the dryers and add the second load to the washers, you’ve both become more brutal. Bucky dares you to wear the grossest article of clothing from the lost and found bin. You dare him to go steal a pair of panties from an elderly woman. That escapade ended in Bucky getting royally berated by the old woman. You should have felt bad but couldn’t compose yourself from the voracious laughter.

It’s your turn to ask Bucky again. Little did he know you had an ulterior motive for choosing your game this evening. You can’t bring yourself to make eye contact with him. You can save lives, stick your hands in all sorts of bodily fluids, and deal with violent patients but for some reason asking this simple dare to Bucky felt like you would be the one needing resuscitation.

“I dare you… to go out on a date with me.”

You scrunch your eyes together; still facing forward in the seat unable to meet his eyes. Despite the ringing in your ears, you hear his steady breaths beside you as he deliberates.

“I dare you to join me for breakfast when our laundry is done,” he replies.

You glance at him bashfully, not fully believing his answer. He pulls you close to his side with a chuckle; planting a kiss on the top of your head. You sit, side pressed into his, in the uncomfortable plastic chairs of the laundromat until your laundry finishes and your date begins.


End file.
